The Launching of Roger Brook

by Dennis Wheatley

‘So be it,’ he said, endeavouring to appear a little crestfallen, ‘I’ll take three-eighty for them, since you advise it.’

  ‘Nay, we will ask four-fifty for them as our opening shot and only come down gradually. ’Tis all against a gentleman’s inclination to quibble over money, but one needs must for one’s own protection in a case like this; and by so doing we might screw the knave up to parting with four-hundred louis. But I have yet to tell you my disturbing thought.’

  ‘What is it?’ inquired Roger anxiously.

  De Roubec hesitated a moment, then he said: ‘You will not take offence, I trust, at anything I may say?’

  ‘Nay, why should I do so if ’tis for my benefit?’

  ‘’Tis this, then. Your age is your own affair, but when I first set eyes on you last night I put you down as scarce seventeen. The fact that you handle your sword as well as a man makes no difference to the youthfulness of your appearance. Your account of how you came by these trinkets is fair enough, and ’twould not enter my head to cast doubt upon your word. Yet others, who have not had the happiness of your acquaintance, may not prove so credulous. For so young a man to be offering for sale all these women’s gewgaws would strike any goldsmith as strange, to say the least; and, God forbid that such a thing should occur, but he might even think that you had stolen them and are being hunted in England by the agents of the Minister of Police. ’Twill be obvious to him at a glance that the stuff is of English make and I gather that you know no one in Le Havre who could vouch for your honesty. Perhaps my forebodings are no more than moonshine, but I felt it my duty as your friend to warn you of what may befall. Since ’twould be monstrous unpleasant to find yourself clapped into prison on suspicion, for a month or more while inquiries were being made.’

  Roger’s face fell in earnest now. It had never occurred to him that he might be faced with the same difficulties in disposing of Georgina’s jewels in France as he would have been in England. He had taken it for granted that a French goldsmith would be prepared to buy without asking questions, but now it seemed that in offering them for sale here he would be running a far greater risk than he would have in some country town at home. There, the worst that could have befallen him would have been to pass a night in the lock-up and be ignominiously returned to his irate parent next day, whereas here he might be held a prisoner for weeks on end before tedious official inquiries led to his identity being fully established and his family in England securing his release.

  ‘I am much indebted to you,’ he said in a rather small voice, ‘I had not thought of that, and there is much in what you say.’

  ‘Of course, if you care to risk it,’ hazarded the Chevalier, ‘I will accompany you to a goldsmith’s with pleasure. But, willing as I am to help, I could not honestly say that I had independent knowledge as to how you came by these jewels, or swear to it that I had known you for more than a day; since if further inquiry were made I should soon be in a trouble myself for perjury.’

  ‘Yes, I fully appreciate that,’ said Roger thoughtfully, but a new idea had come to him and he went on with some diffidence: ‘My father needs this money with some urgency, though, and I am most loath to return to England without it. Would you—would it be asking too much of you to sell the stuff for me? I give you my solemn word of honour that it was come by honestly, and is mine to dispose of as I think fit. You are a grown man and well known in Le Havre, so the goldsmith would never question your right to dispose of such goods.’

  The Chevalier considered for a moment. ‘Yes, it could be done that way,’ he said slowly. ‘Maître Blasieur knows me well, and we have oft done far larger deals together.’

  ‘Please!’ Roger urged. ‘Please help me in this and I’ll be eternally grateful to you.’

  De Roubec smiled at him. ‘I believe you have a greater interest in this matter than you pretend?’

  Roger coloured slightly. ‘Well, as a fact, my father promised me a portion of the proceeds of the deal if I showed my capabilities by handling it with credit. ’Tis in a way a test, too, as to if he will or no henceforth regard me as an equal and allow me to manage his affairs while he is away at sea.’

  ‘In that case I can scarce bring myself to disoblige you.’

  ‘This is stupendous!’ Roger laughed again, now once more confident of success. ‘Let us lose no time but start at once and get the matter over.’

  ‘A moment, I beg.’ De Roubec raised his hand. ‘’Twill not appear to Maître Blasieur that ’tis I who am the seller if the goods for sale are produced by you, one by one, out of your pockets. I fear you will have to trust me with them for a short time at the least.’

  Roger’s hesitation was barely perceptible. He was most strongly averse to parting with his treasure, and he had not known De Roubec long enough to place complete faith in him. Yet it seemed clear that he must accept this risk or offend the Chevalier and say goodbye to any hope of this deal on account of which he had been to such pains in getting to France.

  ‘I fully appreciate that,’ he agreed, wondering at the same time how he could manage to keep a safety line on his property. ‘How would you suggest that we arrange the matter?’

  ‘Any way that suits yourself,’ replied the Chevalier casually. ‘But to start with I am sure you will see the advantage of making the jewels up into one convenient packet, so that they can be handed to Maître Blasieur without your hunting about your person as though you were seeking fleas in the coat of a dog.’

  Seeing the sense of this Roger began to get out his collection again while De Roubec sought for something suitable in which to put it. On the lower shelf of a cupboard he came across a long, flat bon-bon box, and, finding it to be empty, threw it on the table with a muttered: ‘This will serve.’

  Having packed all the chains, brooches, bangles and rings into the box, Roger looked up at him and inquired: ‘What now?’

  ‘Why, put it in the big pocket of your coat, mon ami,’ laughed the Chevalier, ‘I have no desire to be responsible for your property for a moment longer than the occasion demands; and we will now go together to the goldsmith’s.’

  His last lingering doubts of the Chevalier’s probity thus being dispelled, Roger got to his feet and, unlatching the door, they left the room.

  Outside, the hot August sunshine glared upon the quay and as Roger walked along beside his companion his heart was high. Four hundred pounds would be a nice little fortune on which to start life in London. For five pounds a week a young man could live in considerable comfort at a modest yet respectable hostelry and have half that sum over to spend on getting about. At that rate Georgina’s present would keep him for over a year and a half, but long before that he expected to have some profitable employment, so he could well afford to cut a good figure and take more expensive lodging in the meantime if, having acquired well-to-do friends, it seemed advisable to do so.

  On reaching the Rue François ler they walked some way along it, then De Roubec halted and pointed with his cane at a corner shop with a long bow window.

  That is Maître Blasieur’s,’ he said. ‘’Twould be best, I think, if I go in while you wait outside for me, otherwise he may suspect that I am acting only as an intermediary, and that the goods are really yours, which might lead to his asking embarrassing questions.’

  ‘You foresee everything,’ Roger smiled and wriggling the long heavy box out of his pocket he handed it to De Roubec, as he added: ‘I am indeed grateful to you. I will wait here and pray meanwhile that you may have good fortune on my behalf.’

  ‘Be sure I will do my best for you,’ laughed the Chevalier, ‘and I will be as speedy as I can. But do not be too impatient, as for a goldsmith to weigh and assess so many articles is certain to take not less than twenty minutes.’

  He was about to turn away when he paused and added:

  ‘’Tis understood that I am authorised by you to accept three hundred and eighty louis, or at the worst a close offer to that, is it not?’

  Roger nodded and the Chevalier disa
ppeared into the shop.

  For a time Roger amused himself by watching the smart equipages with which this fashionable street was as crowded as it had been on the previous afternoon. A clock above the mercer’s at which he had bought a change of linen and his smart lace jabot had shown it to be just on a quarter to eleven when De Roubec had left him, and every few minutes he glanced impatiently at its dial.

  The hands of the clock seemed to crawl but at last they reached the eleven and the bells in the steeples of the town rang out the hour. Roger was standing no more than a couple of yards from the doorway of Maître Blasieur’s shop and his glance now rarely left it although he told himself that after the gold had been weighed De Roubec would require at least a further ten minutes to drive a good bargain.

  He was wondering now if the Chevalier would manage to get for him four hundred louis or only three hundred and eighty. Perhaps he might even be driven to accept three-seventy? On the other hand he seemed a shrewd fellow and might persuade the goldsmith into parting with four hundred and ten. In any case, Roger felt, he must give him a handsome present for all the trouble he had taken, and as the hands of the clock over the mercer’s crawled on from eleven to ten past he turned over in his mind various gifts that he might make his friend.

  He thought of lace ruffles, a more elegant cane, and a new sword-belt but decided that none of these were good enough, and finally settled on a pair of silver-mounted pistols, similar to those he had lost himself in the Albatross, and would have liked to possess again.

  A clock chimed the quarter and still De Roubec had not emerged from the goldsmith’s. Roger began to fret now at his friend being so long, and endeavoured to peer into the shop, but the door was of stout wood and behind the window hung a plain black velvet curtain which cut off all view of the interior.

  Striving to muster such further patience as he could he began to walk agitatedly up and down. That De Roubec could not yet have come out was certain as the place had one entrance only and no second door round the corner of the street.

  For a further ten minutes Roger waited with ever-mounting impatience, then he could smother his half-formed fears no longer, and turning the handle of the shop door pushed it a little open. The shop was empty except for a man in a grey wig who stood behind the counter examining some gems.

  Thrusting the door wide, Roger almost fell inside, exclaiming breathlessly: ‘The Chevalier de Roubec! Where is he? Where has he gone?’

  The man in the wig stared at him stupidly for a moment then he said: ‘What do you mean, Monsieur? The Chevalier de Roubec. I know no one of that name.’

  ‘But you must!’ insisted Roger wildly. ‘He came into your shop half an hour, nay, three-quarters of an hour ago, with some gold ornaments that he wished to sell.’

  ‘Ah, Monsieur means a tall gentleman, no doubt. A gentleman in a red velvet coat having a scar on his cheek that dragged down the corner of his left eye a little?’

  ‘Yes, yes! That is he!’ Roger panted. ‘Where has he gone to?’

  The shopman spread out his hands. ‘I have no idea, Monsieur. He offered no gold ornaments for sale, but bought a cheap scarf pin for three crowns. Then he asked if he might use the privy out in the yard at the back, and said that when he had done he would leave by the alley on to which the yard abuts. But why is Monsieur so excited? Has he been robbed?’

  ‘No,’ stammered Roger with sudden visions of a police inquiry which he felt would do him little good and might even land him in further trouble. ‘No, but I wanted to speak with him most urgently, and he said—he said if I’d wait outside he would attend to my business as soon as he had done with you. How long has he been gone?’

  ‘Half an hour, at least, Monsieur; more by now. He spent but a few moments choosing his pin, then left at once.’

  ‘Perchance he was suddenly taken ill and is still out there,’ Roger suggested, snatching at a wild hope.

  ‘If Monsieur wishes we will go and see,’ replied the man in the wig, moving out from behind the counter. ‘But I can hardly think that it is likely to be so.’

  Together they visited the back of the premises. The earth closet was empty and the gate in the yard which gave on to a narrow alley slightly open. With a heart as heavy as lead Roger realised that it would be futile to attempt a chase. The purchase of the scarf pin alone was enough to convince him that he had been deliberately tricked, and by now the Chevalier might be a mile or more away.

  Thanking the jeweller in a subdued voice he accompanied him back to the shop and walked out into the street. The sun was still shining and the gay equipages of the local French nobility still edging past each other in the congested thoroughfare, but he no longer had any eyes for their elegantly clad occupants.

  His little fortune was gone, just as surely as if it had dropped overboard when he had been flung from the Albatross into the sea. He was alone and friendless in France. His winnings of the previous night had been eaten up by the money he had been forced to disburse in the brothel, and more with them. With added bitterness he recalled that De Roubec had not paid him back the louis he had lent him to finance his play at Monsieur Tricot’s. In one way and another his cash capital had dwindled to only a little over four pounds, and he still had his bill at the inn to settle. Near panic seized him at the sudden, awful thought that he was now stranded in this strange foreign city, and had not even enough money left to pay for a passage back to England.

  9

  The Man in Blue

  Slowly and sadly Roger made his way back to Les Trois Fleur-de-Lys. If there had been the faintest hope of catching the Chevalier there, anger and the acute anxiety he was feeling as to his future would have lent wings to his feet, but he knew there was none. De Roubec had now a clear three-quarters of an hour’s start and, even if he had returned to the inn to pick up a few belongings, assuming that the irate Roger was certain to make for it as soon as he discovered the fraud that had been put upon him, would have left it again by this time.

  As it was it seemed unlikely that the Chevalier had gone back to the inn even for a few moments, or would ever show his face there again. Knowing the man now for the plausible rogue that he was Roger began to see him in an entirely new light. His shoddy finery consorted ill with the tale that he really possessed a handsome wardrobe which had been impounded by a distrustful landlord. His story that he was a scion of a great and wealthy family who had had his pocket picked and was waiting for a lavish remittance was, no doubt, all moonshine. No real gentleman, Roger realised all too late, would be a regular habitué of a low waterside brothel such as the ‘Widow Scarron’s’. His anxiety that morning, too, to know if anyone else in Le Havre was aware that Roger was in possession of a hoard of valuable trinkets showed that he had premeditated and deliberately planned the theft.

  Yet, badly as he had been taken in, Roger felt that a more experienced person than himself might equally have fallen a victim to the Chevalier’s wiles. His face had been a weak rather than vicious one, and he had shown great vivacity, sympathy and apparent generosity; in fact, all the characteristics calculated to win the interest and friendship of a stranger quickly. But that anyone else might have been fooled as easily as himself was little consolation to Roger now.

  As he walked on he wondered desperately how he could possibly get back to England, then, swiftly on top of that came the even more distressing question as to what would happen to him if he did succeed in securing a passage across the Channel. Gone were the bright dreams of comfortable lodgings and cutting a fine figure in London. If he got back at all it would be to land there near penniless. It would be a choice then between hedgerows and hard manual labour or going home to eat humble pie before his father; and the thought of being forced to the latter made him almost sob with rage.

  On reaching the inn he met the oily Maître Picard on the doorstep and inquired at once if he had seen the Chevalier during the past hour.

  The landlord shook his head. ‘I’ve not set eyes on him since he went out with
you this morning, Monsieur.’

  ‘Has he any other address, or have you any idea where I could find him?’ asked Roger.

  ‘No, none, Monsieur. He comes and goes as he lists, that one. He said nothing this morning of leaving, but ’twould not be the first time that he has walked out on me. He is, as you may know, a professional gambler, and often in low water. If I may offer a word of advice, Monsieur, he is not a good companion for a young gentleman like yourself.’

  ‘Would that you had said as much before,’ Roger muttered ruefully.

  ‘Why so?’ asked Maître Picard. ‘Has he then robbed you of something? I have heard tell that he can be light-fingered on occasion.’

  Visions of a police inquiry with himself held for weeks as a material witness, again flashed before Roger’s mind, so he said hastily, ‘No—at least nothing of great value. Only a pair of shoe buckles that he promised to get valued for me; but they were not of sufficient consequence to make a fuss over. Is it true that you hold his wardrobe as surety for his reckoning?’

  ‘Nay, Monsieur,’ the landlord smirked, ‘that is an idle tale. Sometimes he pays before he leaves, at others he settles his old score on the next occasion that he asks for a room. He has worn naught but that old red velvet coat of his since he first came here last Hallowe’en and I’d have thought anyone would have spotted him for a slippery customer.’

  ‘Why do you suffer such rogues to lodge at your inn, and mingle with your other guests?’ snapped Roger, his temper getting the better of him.

  Maître Picard bridled. ‘I am a poor man, Monsieur, and cannot afford to turn away a patron without proof that he has actually been dishonest. As for the others, ’tis for them, not me, to mind their purses. And had you been more circumspect in your choice of a companion, doubtless you would still be in possession of your buckles.’ Upon which he turned huffily away and slouched off through the hall to his quarters at the back of the premises.

  Swallowing this rebuff, which he felt that he had asked for, Roger went into the parlour and sat down. It was empty except for the old man in the blue suit with the shock of white hair and watery blue eyes, who had been there the night before. He was no longer drunk or drinking, but was sitting with a woebegone expression on his face staring at his boots.